


Make Me a Mute

by bavilookman



Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 02:06:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1101119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bavilookman/pseuds/bavilookman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a laviyuu secret santa gift one-shot smut fic dedicated to the darling kitty! merry xmas, sweetie, and ilu!</p><p>"But when Kanda stares at Lavi like he's something to sink his teeth into - that stirs something in him. In his heart, in his mind, in every nerve ending, in the heat that begins at his middle and spreads outwards. And in that heat, he can press his searing hands against Kanda's skin and sate him."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make Me a Mute

For once, Lavi is quiet, and he listens. It's not obvious in the way he's laying sprawled across one of the long seats in the train compartment, one long leg bent and the other hanging off the edge, hands clasped behind his head, but he listens for movement out in the corridor. Footsteps, chatter, anything - but there's nothing. It's late, late into the night as the train makes its long journey back to England, back to the European Branch of the Black Order that Lavi calls home, whether or not he means it. Darkness brings silence to people, keeps them contained in their own spaces. All the better. 

Kanda sits on the other side of their shared compartment, arms and legs crossed and head tilted back and eyes shut, though Lavi knows he's not sleeping by the cadence of his breathing. To test it, he shifts in his own seat and makes a small noise as he stretches, and then grins when one of Kanda's brows twitch, eyes moving beneath his closed lids toward the sound. Definitely not asleep. Far too aware for that.

"This trip feels a lot longer than usual," Lavi says, one arm slipping off the seat and dangling, fingertips brushing the floor. "Maybe it's 'cause it's been so long since we've been back at Headquarters, huh, Yuu?" Further proof that Kanda's awake, not that Lavi needs it: one corner of his mouth curls downwards at the use of his first name - a familiar sight, one that Lavi's fond of, at this point. "I miss my bed," he continues, a wistful almost-moan to his tone as he recalls it - but there's more to it. There's something that says, _'I miss you in my bed.'_

Still, Kanda doesn't open his eyes. Narrowing his own visible eye, Lavi turns to lay on his side, facing the other young man and propping his head up in the palm of one hand, elbow bent and pressed into the cushion. "I know you're awake," he says, a smile in his voice. "If you wanted a quiet ride, maybe you should have gotten into the compartment with the Finder." Lavi's met with silence, not even the slightest movement from the other exorcist. The lines of Kanda's body are tense, a little too still for it to be realistic, because now he's _trying_ to stay frozen, just to prove Lavi wrong.

But Lavi's never wrong. And he'll have no problem getting that point across.

The Bookman's voice lowers when he speaks next, and he makes a show of talking to himself now that Kanda's committed to his little ruse. "If you're asleep, then..." He takes a little breath and glances in Kanda's direction, and then presses a palm against his own stomach. "...I could figure out a way to make this trip go faster." Suggestion drips from his voice and he wets his lips with it on the tip of his tongue, that hand sliding down, down, fingertips tracing along the waistband of his pants. 

Lavi turns his head to look up at the ceiling, lips parted and breathing still even but just a little deeper. He wouldn't be so bold if Kanda were actually sleeping, maybe. _Maybe._ But he wants to get a rise out of the swordsman. He wants to make him move. Wants to make him twitch. Lavi wants to see those eyes wide and filled with something he's only seen a few times before, a hunger that has nothing to do with war or with bloodlust or anything else that drives Kanda to draw his blade and slay Akuma in the thousands. Lavi has seen enough battle that _that_ hunger stirs nothing in him anymore.

But when Kanda stares at Lavi like he's something to sink his teeth into - that stirs something in him. In his heart, in his mind, in every nerve ending, in the heat that begins at his middle and spreads outwards. And in that heat, he can press his searing hands against Kanda's skin and sate him.

Thinking about it makes his every movement a little more sincere, makes the trembling sigh he lets out wholly authentic, puts reason behind the shaking in his fingers as he slips the button on his pants. For a moment, he forgets his performance and lets his one eye flutter closed, his back bowing as his wandering hand presses between his legs, hips lifting slightly to meet the touch. In the silence, the sound of his zipper is loud, can be heard over the rhythmic thumping of the train on the track and the increasingly fast thumping of Lavi's own heart in his ears. 

That hand disappears beneath the elastic waistband of his underwear and he lets out a low hiss when bare skin meets bare skin, fingers coaxing eager flesh to length.

He's so lost in the sensation that he doesn't hear when Kanda finally does stir. Fingers wrap around his wrist and pull his hand away and his eye flies open, wide and staring up at Kanda's face. His long ponytail hangs over one shoulder, dangerously close to Lavi's fingers, so close that if he pulled just enough out of Kanda's grip he'd be able to touch it.

But he doesn't. Instead, he comes back to himself. He lets his shocked expression melt away into something a little smug - _'I told you so,'_ is what it says - something a little mischievous, though when he speaks it's with an air of innocence that will no doubt infuriate the other exorcist. "Oh, hey, Yuu. I thought you were sleepi--"

"Lavi."

The Bookman swallows his words but doesn't bother swallowing his grin, sitting up slightly to lean just a little toward the other young man. And when he looks into those dark eyes, he sees the beginnings of what he's been hoping for. Lavi stares until Kanda has to look away, but it seems the swordsman can't escape, because that gaze flits over the body laid out in front of him, legs spread and pants open and falling down one hip and the outline of flesh hardened by desire pressed to thin cloth. His chest rises and falls fast and it must stir memories in Kanda - it should, because the swordsman has felt that breath against his back, has heard it stutter into desperate pleas that have no content but his name.

Before Lavi can try speaking again, Kanda is forcing his gaze away, toward the door of the compartment. "Anyone could look in through the window, idiot," he states, and Lavi laughs, not because of what the other exorcist said, but because he sees that Kanda's hands are curled into fists, holding too tightly as if to keep them from grabbing onto anything else. "Stop making a spectacle of yourself and pull up your pants."

Kanda's steps are stiff, stilted when he makes his way to the door, and for a moment Lavi wonders if he's going to leave - but instead, he tugs on a dangling little string to pull the shade over the window, apparently to preserve Lavi's modesty, of which he has none. Another laugh rises in the Bookman but stops somewhere around his throat, stopped because now he's pulled his long body from his seat, has come up behind the other young man and reached out, one arm sliding past him with the pretense of sliding the lock in place, when really his motivation is only to press himself against that broad back. 

Locking the door gives some pretense of privacy, when really the walls are only thin enough to dull conversation, at most.

"Help me pass the time?" Lavi mutters against the shell of Kanda's ear, the fingers of both hands finding purchase on the other exorcist's hips, fingertips pressing, dipping along the edge of either hipbone to pull that body - shorter than Lavi's, certainly, but no less solid - against his own. There's something characteristic in the way they hold themselves in that moment - Kanda rigid and ramrod, all tension and anticipation; Lavi bending, supple, ready to mold to whatever shape he needs to bring them closer and closer.

A long pause. Kanda remains still and Lavi takes his time to peruse the soft skin behind the other young man's ear with his lips, with his teeth, with his tongue when he gets tired of waiting. When Kanda's head tilts just so, barely a millimeter but enough for Lavi and that Bookman's mind to notice, Lavi knows the answer.

He waits, though, to hear it from Kanda's lips.

Not yet. "We're on a moving train. You really don't have enough control to wait?" 

"Mmn," Lavi intones, his only reply - though there is a definitive _no_ in the hand that wanders up, in the fingers that tug from Kanda's hair the tie that keeps his hair in its ponytail. He's always loved that hair and the way it looks sliding between his fingers, splayed against the bare, pale skin of Kanda's back, the way it spills over the exorcist's shoulders when his back bows. Maybe what he likes most, though, is that when it's loose and wild, Kanda's a different person than the one he presents to everyone else. This is Lavi's Kanda - Lavi's Kanda, with an arch in his spine and a gasp on his lips and Lavi gripping hard on his hair near the scalp as they move together.

Kanda is somewhere between pulling away and pushing closer; Lavi knows him well enough to know that's what the stillness is, that's why he's frozen where he stands. "If we do anything - and I'm not saying we _will_ \- someone is bound to hear--"

"I don't care." Lavi's burying his nose in Kanda's hair, sliding his hand around the front of Kanda's throat to tilt his head back. "Makes it a little more exciting, doesn't it? That anyone could be listening in?" There isn't much that surprises Lavi anymore, but the tiny shiver that travels the length of Kanda's spine, a shiver he can feel against the front of him-- that's a surprise. It makes him grin against the ear he's found with his mouth again. Yuu Kanda, an exhibitionist. It wouldn't surprise Lavi if this were the first time Kanda's realized it, too.

In the short silence that follows, Lavi lets the hand on Kanda's hip wander, down over the front of the exorcist's pants, sliding right between his legs and then dragging up again. Kanda lets out a short, harsh breath through his nose, lips pressed stubbornly together, and it gives Lavi pause. Copper lashes flutter as he leans forward to examine the other young man's profile, looking at the curves and planes of that face to find something in it - and when he does, there's that grin again, one with a sharpness that only Kanda is ever afforded.

And when he speaks, it's in a voice that's only for Kanda, too. "Do you think you can keep quiet?" When he moves, it's for Kanda. He turns the swordsman around and steps forward, one leg slipping between Kanda's, chin tilted down at a dangerous angle that makes his one eye look predatory. "Is that what you're doing?" One hand lifts, the pad of Lavi's thumb pressing against Kanda's lips, looking for them to part-- but they don't. They don't part. 

At one corner, though: the beginnings of a smirk.

A game will pass the time.

The distance between them closes quickly and Lavi's nose fits right beside Kanda's, his mouth hovering over that closed one, and he touches it with a curious tongue, with a searching kiss. When the exorcist doesn't move, it only takes a low whispers of, "Just one," for those lips to part, though no noise escapes them - they only meet Lavi's and coax his tongue back to what it was denied.

Practiced hands find polished buttons and slip them one by one down the Black Order's uniform jacket, one that suits Kanda best, that hugs him in the best ways but Lavi only wants to see what's underneath it now. The fabric crumples as it hits the floor and the thin shirt underneath soon follows, leaving Kanda bare, leaving him exposed the Bookman's hunger. Kanda's neck doesn't sate him. Kanda's throat doesn't ease the ache of wanting in him. 

His back curves - he's not ready to kneel, not yet, not while Kanda is just starting to move his hips and rub himself against the thigh between his own - so he can trail kisses over a slightly protruding collarbone, before following with his tongue, and then his teeth. Lavi's rewarded with a hand at the back of his neck and with nails biting into his skin; it urges him to pay the same attention to the collarbone opposite, leaving little marks in his wake to remind Kanda later that he'd been there. 

When Lavi lowers himself further, finally pulling away from the friction and heat those rolling hips had created, fingertips press a path all the way up to Kanda's throat, tracing long lines over it, longer when Kanda tilts his head back, and there he waits to feel the vibration of a moan, a gasp, anything that would win Lavi the game. He's low enough to slide the flat of his tongue over a nipple, the other young man's back arching like the blade of his sword; his ribs are the edge and Lavi's mouth to be cloven in two. Farther down, farther down, until Lavi's supplicant at his feet, his breathing against the warm skin of Kanda's stomach a hymn, 

and the low moan that follows when Kanda slides his fingers through Lavi's hair a _hallelujah_.

Quick work is made of Kanda's pants, pulled down to his knees, leaving his underwear behind just to tease him, though Lavi pulls them down far enough to reveal hipbones that beg to be tasted. There, Lavi can see where his fingertips had pressed before, and so he scatters kisses over the impressions, though he plans to mar the pale flesh more. The curves of the bone he trace with the tip of his tongue, slowly, leaving a wet trail behind that's touched by cool air blown through pursed lips - all of which gets him a drawn-out, shaking inhale from Kanda, which isn't a victory yet, but a step toward it.

That tongue slides over Kanda's lower stomach at a pace to make someone break, and the swordsman almost does. He presses his hips forward, pulls on Lavi's hair-- both of which earn him hands shoving him back against the compartment door, fingertips digging into the flesh of his ass and holding right at the hips to pin him there. It earns him a sharp bite at that hipbone yet untouched by the Bookman's mouth, one that raises a bruise on lily white within seconds and is soothed by the tongue that follows. 

A glance up tells Lavi that Kanda's becoming impatient, perhaps about to part his lips and say something-- but Lavi isn't ready for the game to end so soon. Not yet, not yet, so he dips his head and drags his tongue over the underside of Kanda's cock, tasting nothing but fabric, and the wetness and the pressure is enough to stop Kanda's voice in his throat. A kiss is pressed right to the tip, almost tender, almost loving, but also a teasing promise of what's to follow.

Kanda's breathing is hard and it catches on every inhale and Lavi doesn't think he's heard anything sweeter. No, in fact, he knows he's never heard anything sweeter, because he can't forget a single thing he does hear. Kanda's it, Kanda's everything that's Lavi's favorite, from the sounds he makes to the snapshots that are forever immortalized in the steel trap of the Bookman's mind, to the way he tastes and the way he _feels_ and the way he comes apart.

Lavi parts his lips, drags them teasingly over that length and breathes in hot puffs against it, a grin on his face when the flesh twitches against his mouth. And still, no noise from Kanda. Not a sound, besides his breathing, but his eyes are bright and they're hungry, just like Lavi had wanted, and the hand that isn't in the redhead's hair is pressed flat against the door, fingertips bent with how hard they're pressed against the wood. _Soon_ , Lavi thinks, _soon_ , and he pulls Kanda's underwear down around his knees.

An eidetic memory makes it possible for Lavi to find a particular key in a sea of replicas; he can tell by weight, he can tell by some indescribable thing, he can remember every curve and every last minuscule element that makes it unique. He can remember the way it fits in his hand - and he can remember the way Kanda fits in his mouth. He can remember every last swipe of the tongue that makes Kanda arch and hiss and moan and tremble, can remember every touch that sends him into a stream of, _fuck, oh God, so good_ , and he takes advantage of this. Especially now, when there's a game to be won. 

Yet no noise comes from Kanda's throat. Nothing is drawn from those stubborn vocal cords, but Lavi isn't done yet. Kanda's cock slides from his mouth, left there waiting as Lavi pulls one shoe and one pant leg off of the other exorcist, making those legs easier to spread, allowing him to put one over his shoulder, leaving Kanda open to him. Saliva won't get him too far, but it'll get him far enough; he wets his fingers with it, presses one of them to that opening even as he takes Kanda between his lips again, into his throat again, _purpose_ in every movement, _determination_ to make the swordsman scream. A knuckle presses against that certain gland from the outside with every thrust of his finger, and then two fingers when that tight ring of muscle allows it, and Lavi can only make a muffled sound around his mouthful when Kanda starts to move, to ride the digits inside of him.

Lavi's sure to lift his gaze and meet Kanda's even as he slides the swordsman's length in and out of the tight heat of his mouth, slides his own fingers in and out of the tight heat of Kanda's body. Kanda's mouth isn't closed tight anymore; it's open and he's breathing hard through it and his already dark eyes darken still. Every time Kanda's movements halt and start again, stutter and struggle to find a rhythm between fucking himself on Lavi's fingers and thrusting into Lavi's waiting mouth, the Bookman drinks in those brief seconds of confusion in Kanda's expression, those moments where he's lost and everything feels too good and he needs the guidance of Lavi's tongue to bring him back.

Those moments in which grace escapes Kanda are more beautiful than any dance the swordsman can do with Mugen in hand.

He always finds it again, though, when he comes.

There's grace in the build-up, in the desperate movements and in the way Kanda's spine curves. There's beauty in the sweat that clings to his eyelashes and catches strands of long hair on pale cheeks and in the way he shakes. _'I want to watch you,'_ he'd said, hushed and in the darkness of Kanda's room at the Black Order. _'Let me watch you, so I'll never be able to forget,'_ and the other exorcist had come so sweetly, in such detail.

And Lavi remembers it. Still, he won't tear his gaze away this time, even if he can recall in perfectly clear picture. Kanda's fingernails drag back through Lavi's hair, a warning, and the Bookman's affirmative hum around his flesh is all Kanda needs to let go.

Lavi had forgotten their game in the wake of _this_ , in the wake of Kanda, but he remembers when Kanda gasps and then lets the breath out in a groan that turns into a breathless, broken moan-- and then, at the end, "Please, please, _Lavi_."

Short, quick little sounds follow through as Kanda comes, the movement of Lavi's lips never ceasing for its duration, his tireless fingers curled and pressing into just the right spot to make it last. Only when the tension flees the body bowed and satisfied above him does Lavi stop, pulling back slowly and grinning despite the ache in his jaw. His hand retreats, too, moves to slide along the outside of Kanda's thigh. One last taste, one last perusal of his tongue to clean up his mess, one last fond, gentle kiss to the over-sensitive tip, and Lavi carefully shrugs that leg off his shoulder and stands, there to support Kanda against the door with hands splaying over either side of the swordsman's waist. 

The steady sound of the train on the tracks returns to their compartment, previously drowned out by Kanda's every breath. It's silent otherwise, but echoes remain.

Kanda accommodates the arms that wrap around him a moment later, back arching enough that Lavi can press his palms to the small of his back and hold him close. Through the sliver of window not covered by the screen, Lavi can see to the compartment across from theirs, and in that window appears the face of their Finder, brows furrowed and confusion in her gaze. He tries not to laugh, but the laughter's in his one eye when he looks back to Kanda. "You probably should have kept it down," he says, and doesn't even try to avoid the hand that swings toward the back of his head. 

That it remains there and tangles in his hair when he leans in to kiss Kanda is what matters, anyway.


End file.
